Frustrated Artist
by sapphire-eyed-dreamer
Summary: How can she be a frustrated artist when she couldn't even feel in the first place? Oneshot. Namine-centric


**A/N: **I've always wondered why during the FMV scene, Naminé's sketch was so beautiful. But during the rest of the game, they were merely crayon doodles. So, this fic is a kind of explanation.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the Kingdom Hearts characters. They belong to Disney and Square-enix.

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Blankness.

It was something she was used to, being a representation of the word itself. Found broken and without memory in one of the floors of Castle Oblivion, her pale skin, flaxen hair and white dress symbolized it. No being could possibly be devoid of color and life, and yet, here she was.

Maybe it was by this reasoning that upon seeing the blank piece of paper she had the sudden urge to fill it with color. An instinct to do something about its blankness, even if she couldn't do anything about her own. She was promptly supplied with the necessary tools, and she soon found herself drawing page after page, creating artistic replicas of memories that were never hers. Her hands moved on their own accord. A slight stroke here, a few harsh lines there. It came to her naturally, and soon, the white marble table was overflowing with colorful pages and vibrant figures.

"I can't understand how you do it so easily." Axel, the eight member of the Organization (and the only being who had been somehow civil to her since she came to existence), remarked with a little bit of awe as he gazed at her latest work. "No one from where I came from was good as this."

He was looking at a colored pencil rendition of the stairs of Castle Oblivion, perfected in every detail; from the infinite steps, to the numerous shadows that flecked the edges. His gloved fingers replaced it among the already tottering pile of papers and picked up a less ghastly version of Castle Oblivion, the mild colors somehow making the building look more pleasing to the eye.

"I don't know." she said uncertainly, stopping from shading the Riku replica's hair for a moment and looking up at him. She bit her lower lip anxiously. "It comes to me naturally. But I don't think it's merely talent."

She fingered the silver colored pencil in her hand gingerly, reveling in its lightness. Eyeing the large pile of colors scattered among the table, Naminé allowed a small smile to escape from her lips. The moment she had come into contact with the art supplies, she moved with practiced ease, her fingers expertly pulling out random colors. She was satisfied that there were a lot of varieties, and that they were light and easy to use. Axel noticed where her attention was focused.

"That, and the fact that there are…wait, how many colors are in here again?" he muttered, peering at the slightly large pile of wooden colored leads. He quirked an eyebrow as he pulled out two purple pencils from the pile. "These are the same, aren't they?"

The blonde girl squinted at the two colors he held up before shaking her head, her concentration returning to her work. "No. One is lighter then the other."

The Flurry of Dancing Flames gave her a deer in the headlights look before narrowing his eyes at the offending art supplies.

"I am _not _seeing the difference." he muttered.

But she knew that the issue of whether the two colored pencils were actually the same was beneath the pyro. Castle Oblivion had been chaotic ever since the brunette Keyblade Master had set foot in its white walls. And one by one, the members in the castle disappeared into the shadows, perishing or escaping from the power of the Keyblade. She found herself caught in its whirl, her sketchbook the proof of the events that slowly unfurled, the blank pages slowly but surely being filled.

And then there was Sora's choice. To return to who he was, he said. Naminé knew deep in her mind that he would choose it, and although it pained her, she knew she had to do it. Even though she had no heart, she did have a conscience.

And so she found herself sketching again. This time with a purpose. Time passed by, and all she could remember is her hand holding a different colored pencil every minute of everyday, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Blurs of color moved around her surroundings as she focused on her task, losing herself into it that she was oblivious to everything around her as the drawings increased. As she neared the end, she discovered a little crisis.

"Diz?"

The red-bandaged man turned from his seat in front of the computer, lone yellow eye sizing her up. Naminé, now slightly taller than she was back in Castle Oblivion, shrank back slightly. She didn't fully trust him, but in Sora's current condition, she knew she had no choice but to do so. Seeing that she was waiting for an answer, Diz gave a sigh.

"What is it, Naminé?"

Naminé shifted her weight from one foot to another nervously before holding up a hopelessly short colored pencil. Even covered by the bandages, she could almost see Diz raise an eyebrow.

"I won't be able to finish chaining Sora's memory down if I can't..." she drifted off, gesturing helplessly at her sketchbook that she had set down at a nearby table, and Diz coughed.

"I'll see what I can do."

Satisfied, she bowed her head to thank him before turning at her heel to leave. But then, she didn't knew that Diz had _that _of a discrimination for Nobodies.

And so that's how she found herself staring at a small box of crayons.

"That should take care of it. Now, finish the job." Diz remarked icily, turning with a sweep of his robes and walking out of the pod room, leaving a baffled teenage Nobody.

She reluctantly picked up the newly bought box and inspected it. It was the type of crayons that barely left any marks at the paper at all, poor in quality and only having eight colors.

_Eight._

Cripes, there were even more members in the Organization than the number of crayons in that thing!

Now Naminé was a pretty reasonable Nobody. She had agreed to trust this person, this person that hated her kind. She had agreed into moving to Twilight Town. She had agreed to labor twenty four hours a day to restore Sora's memories. She had agreed to be locked up into either her room or the pod room and to leave both Riku and Diz to their work. But this…

…she could practically hear Axel's voice speaking her thoughts, saying "He probably thinks that Nobodies don't have the right to freedom of expression…or quality merchandise."

At least the Organization was considerate enough to give her quality art supplies.

As she started to work again, she lost her enthusiasm, finding little satisfaction in the chubby wax medium and plenty of hate at the pure ugliness of the rough texture it left on the paper. Soon she became lazy, merely just making haphazard lines onto the white surface, creating doodles that looked like they were merely created by six year old Somebodies. And as her interest in her artwork waned, her interest in other things increased.

Frowning at a particular ugly creation she just did of Sora, Donald and Goofy, her feet started to wander on their own. She stopped in her tracks as she heard Diz's voice from the computer room.

"He holds half of Sora's power within him. In the end, he'll have to give it back. Until then, he'll need another personality to throw off his pursuers." Diz said, walking towards the numerous monitors that were set up in the mansion basement.

Naminé pressed her back firmly against the wall. With her sketchbook clasped tightly to her chest, she peeked from the doorway, trying to stay as hidden as possible. She gasped as she saw a blond boy hunched over the device used for uploading things to the simulated Twilight Town Diz had created a few months ago. From under his hood, Riku—no, Ansem, spoke up.

"Poor thing."

"It's the fate of a Nobody." Diz said callously, punching a few keys. As she watched the boy dissolve to data, Naminé's eyebrows creased.

A fate of a Nobody. That would be her fate too.

She didn't try to question Diz's actions. It was for Sora's benefit, after all. She had made a promise to that boy. But as you see, Naminé was still a Nobody. And Nobodies don't do well when they are under an authority of a being they despised.

The sketches grew uglier as her conscience fought with her instinct, and she found herself gripping the paper covered crayons so hard several times that her knuckles became white. The strokes became jagged, the force violent as for two days she watched the oblivious boy struggle through his fake existence in the digital town.

Until finally, it snapped.

She gazed blankly at her latest sketch; a rough, uneven picture of Sora and Roxas, side by side. Her hand held loosely the black crayon she was using to color in Roxas' Organization coat, the two halves of the broken wax being connected by the paper covering.

This boy was going to disappear without knowing why, without knowing who he really was, without anyone beside him to tell him what will happen next.

It was not a fate she would wish on anybody.

Completely breaking the crayon to bits, she threw it across the table and softly rushed out of the doors of her room, _leaving her sketchbook behind for the first time._

As she ran softly towards the computer room, and as she stared at the high security computer in front of her, the only thought in her head was that she needed to save that boy…even if she had to hijack the data herself.

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Short. My first canon-verse fic. Diz has this thing for Nobody rights. "A Nobody doesn't have the right to know." "A Nobody doesn't have the right to be." That guy needs to stop oppressing Nobody rights. XD Reviews and comments are appreciated! 


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